


a place with angels

by psychamonix



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Betrayal, God Complex, Villains, basically a contemplation of wilbur's arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychamonix/pseuds/psychamonix
Summary: Wilbur knows what he has to do. He planned it. He’s not bitter, not angry, not vengeful. It is just what he has to do.But at the end of the world, Wilbur dares to hope.---expanding on Wilbur's arc in the SMP. only goes up until his death, so no spoilers for recent events.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	a place with angels

Wilbur knows himself to be a god. 

He shifts between worlds, each a different shade of the same color, and cares not for their inhabitants. He plays games with them, bending the fabric of reality to his command, charming the people and (later) watching them burn. It’s not fun, but it’s entertaining, at the very least; some base part of him revels in the destruction, the heartbreak, the ruined and miserable rubble he leaves behind. 

He has companions, sometimes, mere mortals raised to the power of one like him by whatever force it is that tears Wil between worlds. (There’s not much that’s beyond his grasp, but the Creator is one of them. He doesn’t know how he got to be like he did. He doesn’t know who made him, who built him up into this beautiful, monstrous thing that glorifies the ravaged and the horrifying.) 

His companions- feeble, human pawns that they are- know no more than him. To be perfectly clear, they know less, in every matter including this one. Some of them, Wil has carried with him since his earliest world; and yet, none of them remember. They are so caught up in their temporary. Wil is the only one burdened with the permanent. 

Eventually, he learns not to remember, either. 

(He’s not sure which world it was, that broke him for good. Maybe it was just the repetitiveness of tasting his own death on his tongue- like he inevitably does, in every world he enters- metal and smoke and somehow, unfathomably, sweet sugar-water, like the way the clouds look above him as his eyes close again. And again. And again. And-)

_Forget._

When Wil enters the new world, the game calls to him, as strongly and irresistibly as always. So he plays- what else is he to do? He presents himself a friend, falls easily into the banter and plotting, and plans (one day, one day) on The End. 

Dream’s insistence on war makes it easy. Wil spins it fast, desperate, paints himself the pleading, righteous martyr:

_We don’t believe in weapons. In armor._

The kid by his side (he’s had many names. Wil knows him as Adam, Nathan, George, Alex, Matthew, Charlie, Logan, more. Now he’s Tommy, and Wil barely bothers to remember.) doesn’t know how to act. Like Wil, he plays: not with people, but with jokes- a drug van, an undercover smuggling ring, simple one-off jabs at others. Wil thinks that, with training, he is the perfect companion. Bright enough to be entertaining, blind enough to not realize what Wil’s doing. 

(He’s had this thought for worlds and worlds. He forgets, he remembers, he forgets.)

And the election- Wilbur thinks it’s a nice touch. The results are fake, of course they are- as if Wil could ever lose, in this world he _owns_ , fully and completely- but the people believe it. And the new president reacts so beautifully well, plays right into Wilbur’s hands as if he’s in on the secret. 

(Absentmindedly, Wil takes the time to recall another world- water, or fire, rising steadily towards their shelter. The maniac laugh of a vaunted man who overestimates his power, who boasts of besting the gods.) 

The cave they run to is dark. Wil takes one look at the walls, the corners where slithering things hide, and abruptly decides to rebuild himself. It makes sense, in this gash of shadow, for some parts of him to give way and swing open, allowing malicious cynicism to spill through. He hints at his true self, parcels himself up into neat packages and ships them out, tells Tommy his plans just to see the shock on his face. 

He finds a new companion in the stranger, _Technoblade_ , who seems familiar but isn’t. When Wilbur saw the man, blood-stained and glittering with weaponry, he hoped that he would be an equal, a _true_ companion, who knows the world the way Wil does. But though his face is novel, the man moves and acts the same as any other player in the world. 

(In the off-moments, Wil wonders if he truly doesn’t know him. Little things, like the spread of a freshly tilled field, the containers stacked high with the harvest, the way the lantern light glints off his axe. They seem familiar, but he can’t place the memories, and his chest aches when he tries. Then Tubbo returns with news, Tommy approaches with a glint in his eye, and the lingering feeling is gone.) 

The festival comes and goes. Tubbo is the perfect martyr, even more so than Wilbur, young and innocent. His voice shakes as he presses himself against the back of his cage. His eyes are wide when he dies. 

Tommy’s grief is hard to hold and easy to wield. Wilbur looks straight at him and feels it in his hands, twists it to match the storyline, his own beloved plot. The two brawl like children in the pit, and he watches without remorse. 

The players of the world rally behind the new cause, scorning the tyranny they once tolerated in favor of the madman, the vigilante, the child. Wil delights in it, the way they will be their own ruin. He will turn upon them and leave them licking their wounds and he will ask them how they like the taste. 

It lights a spark of joy within him, one he hasn’t felt since the last world. Maybe longer. Wilbur doesn’t know. 

For all his preparations, all his writing and wishing and _twisting_ , the siege is still disappointing. Schlatt is scornful, disrespectful until the very end, but he falls so easily. Mentally, Wil tears up his script, scatters it across the corpse, then spits. This story isn’t perfect. They never are. 

He knows this, but the compulsion never stops. 

The celebrations begin, albeit a little confusedly. Wil distracts the players with new presidents, new orders. He glances at Techno, who meets his eyes with a level gaze. Wilbur runs. 

He knows what he has to do. He planned it. He’s not bitter, not angry, not vengeful. It is just what he has to do. 

But at the end of the world, Wilbur dares to hope. 

The man in front of him is new. He’s familiar in the way of the stars- primordial, comforting, warm- but his wings are like nothing Wil has ever seen. 

There was a place with angels once. 

“Are you it? Are you him?” He asks the man.

“Who?” The man replies, face contorted into confusion.

Wil laughs, bitter. “Just another player, then. Another _character_.”

“What do you-?” 

He presses the button. It doesn’t feel like relief. It doesn’t feel like closure. 

“Go on then.” Wil throws the sword at the man’s feet. He picks it up, brow wrinkling. “Kill me.”

“Wil-” The man stutters. “You’re my son.” 

“Well,” Wilbur says, turning. His eyes are wet and bright. He contains multitudes. “You’re nothing to me.” 

“How can you-” 

“ _KILL ME!_ ” He roars, and watches the world bend to his command. 

The man swings. The sword approaches. Wil tastes the clouds. 

(The world: smoke, screaming, chaos. Techno _was_ a good companion, after all.)

This time, just like all the others, Wil lets himself die.

**Author's Note:**

> been in a slump with writing, sorry this one is kinda low quality 
> 
> also, opinion time: if you've read my t+t hunger games series, would you prefer for the story to end there? i've got a ton of ideas for expanding tommy and others' storylines, but it wouldn't be tubbo+tommy centric anymore, so i'm a lil worried about adding more works to the series :/ no one usually comments when i ask questions but please let me know
> 
> thanks for reading! take care of yourself + i hope you have a lovely day :)


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